


Just part of the deal

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Scent Marking, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-29
Updated: 2011-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's acting weird.  Balthazar explains why.  Dean goes with the flow.  Sam exits stage right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just part of the deal

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "animal play" square on the "inhuman" card for the [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) April mini-challenge. Contains angels behaving in odd ways, wings, and slightly animalistic angel urges, growling, scent-marking, fairly tame dominance displays, possessive behaviour. Beta'd by [](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/profile)[ellethill](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/). Most assuredly contains crack. Vague season six spoilers.

 

Certain things, Dean had kinda figured, would be just part of the deal, getting sexually involved with an angel. Superior strength and stamina, no real refractory period, maybe some confusion at first about how sex actually worked for humans (that part had been mega fun. No, really. Laughs all around, and some intriguing discoveries too). But he hadn’t expected to be fucking scent-marked (the less said about _that_ , the better). Hadn’t expected Castiel’s familiar staring at him to transmute into glaring at everyone else. And the subtle, sub-vocal growling at other angels--just WHAT was that about? Random angels popped in to report on the war effort upstairs, and Cas listened politely, thanked them, and _growled_ all the while. Not that it had been all that noticeable, really. Not until…

Castiel had wanted a chat with Balthazar, and since he’d wanted this chat while he was with Dean in some crummy motel or other, that was where Cas had called and Balthazar had blinked into existence. And they’d chatted, rather cryptically, while Dean leaned against a wall with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets in case he was tempted to punch dear Baltie. And whenever Cas stopped speaking in his placid, oddly unreadable voice, the growl had started up again, constant like the dude didn’t even need to breathe. Well, _angel_. Guess he maybe didn’t. It was kinda strange. Not enough to worry Dean, but, then, living the life he led tended to warp a guy’s perspective on strange. This may not have been enough to bother him. But the way Baltie kept looking from Castiel, grumbling away like a mildly annoyed dog or a _very_ happy cat, to Dean and then back again elevated the whole thing up the _strange_ continuum a bit.

And then, just when Castiel had basically dismissed Baltie, v-neck angel dude said “Before I return to run your errands for you, oh great and fearless leader, I think I’d just like a quick word with your marmoset.” His hand closed like a fucking vice around Dean’s upper arm. “Won’t be long, Cassie, darling,” he added, all smarm, and the last thing Dean saw before he was somewhere else entirely was the world’s creepiest fucking wink.

“Dude,” Dean complained, blinking against the sudden sunlight which seemed impossibly bright. He was sitting on a park bench, yards from the water’s edge. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Sydney, Australia,” Balthazar replied helpfully. “See the bridge? They’re rather proud of it.”

“It’s hot.”

“It’s summer. Under that charming ozone hole you apes put in.”

Dean could not be bothered attempting to defend his entire species from angelic xenophobia. “Come on, Baldrick, explain your cunning plan and then zap me home.”

Balthazar produced a military-perfect salute. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“As if you need it.”

“Tetchy, tetchy. Well, Dean Winchester, our adorable little Castiel seems awfully high-strung lately. You should really stop stressing him out.”

Dean blinked. “I’m stressing _him_ out? I’m not the one who’s been cocking his leg all over—”

“Yes, yes. Poor confused simian. Allow me to explain. Angels have instincts. Powerful, unreasoning instincts. And you, my friend, are—apparently inadvertently—leading little Castiel on. It’s putting a dreadful strain on him, trying to fight his instincts all the time. He’s coping remarkably well, but you really should consider putting him out of his agony.”

“You can start making sense any time now.” Dean was seriously considering doing some growling of his own. But then a cold blue can labelled Foster’s appeared in his hand, and his first sip went a long way towards placating him.

Beside him on the bench, Balthazar gulped greedily from a fat, brown glass bottle of something, made a sibilant sound of pleasure, then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his ugly v-neck t-shirt. “Castiel wants to play happy families with you. Any idiot could see that. And, uh, smell it on you, just lately.”

Dean gave him an evil look but didn’t interrupt, since they finally seemed to be getting somewhere.

“But you obviously haven’t made the effort to decline or accept his offer. And Cassie isn’t dealing so well with that. He’s instinctively trying to prevent anyone else from stealing your sweet little booty away without making you feel chivvied.”

“What kind of hot water are you trying to drown me in here? I’m totally not up for any surprise mystical insta-marriages.”

“Would I trick you into soul-bonding with my favourite little brother? I’m sure he could do at least a little better. But it’s not like that. It’s more like… you’re a talent agent and he wants you to sign him.”

Dean frowned. “That sounds kinda pimpy.”

Balthazar tuts. “This would be _so_ much easier to explain in Enochian. Or Italian, do you know any Italian? What am I saying, of course you don’t, you barely speak English. All right, think pimps and streetwalkers if that’s what makes sense in your tiny mammal mind. So, just accept, and you’ll have the same devoted angel you have now, only he’ll be secure enough not to growl at people. He might even cease the unsightly drooling. And he’ll probably win this war a lot easier once his full concentration’s back on the game.”

Dean shrugged and revisited his beer. It really wasn’t bad. “So, how do I accept?”

“Oh, just a standard display of dominance. Mount him, fuck him, make him do what you want. Pulling out a feather is traditional, but in this realm that might prove difficult.”

“No kidding.” Dean didn’t see fit to mention that, usually, Castiel was the quarterback in their little bedroom scrimmages. “And wouldn’t that hurt?”

“Absolutely. In the most delicious way.” Balthazar’s untrustworthy face took on a look of pleasant nostalgia.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“That’s the spirit, Deano.”

Balthazar stretched out a hand to pat Dean’s knee, and just like that he was back in the dingy little motel room, sitting on his bed, still holding his presumably Australian beer. Neither angel-B nor angel-C was anywhere in sight, but the Sammoid was sitting cross-legged on the other bed, laptop on lap, staring open-mouthed.

“Gidday, mate,” Dean drawled, and raised his can in toast.

***

It was so ridiculously easy to get Cas down from heaven for a little one on one time that Dean had to concede the possibility that, for once, Balthazar hadn’t had any obnoxious ulterior motive beyond making Dean squirm, and had actually been telling some flavour of the truth. Still, Dean wasn’t stupid enough just to go mindlessly doing whatever that badly-dressed bastard recommended. So, he thought he might as well ask. After he’d hauled Castiel down onto his lap so he couldn’t flit away in a hurry.

“So, Balthazar told me some things.”

“I am aware.”

Well, that made things easier. “Eavesdropping, were you?”

It was hard to tell with the poor lighting that seemed to be standard in the motels Sam chose, but it seemed to Dean that Castiel had begun blushing a delicate pink.

“You wanna talk about it, then?”

Castiel’s lips pursed unhappily.

Dean rubbed idly at the back of his neck. “All right. But if I do what Balthazar said and it turns out to be the angelic equivalent of eloping to Vegas, someone’s getting stabbed in the throat with an archangel’s blade. Just saying.”

Cas tucked his head into Dean’s shoulder, breathing his warm, unnecessary breaths on Dean’s throat. “It is the angelic equivalent of my offering you the key to my house and you joyfully accepting.”

“Huh.” This really _was_ serious. But Dean had instincts too, and if it didn’t feel creepy or dangerous, and if it’d calm Cas down, then why the hell not? “Well, all right, then. Get naked.”

“It would help if you were a little more…”

 _Oh. Right. One display of dominance, coming right up._ “Get naked,” Dean repeated, putting some growl of his own into the words.

What Castiel lacked in striptease talent, he made up for in angel speed, and in the blink of an eye there he was, standing before Dean, naked, his clothes all folded neatly on the little round motel table behind him.

It took Dean much longer to follow suit, but Castiel was obviously enthralled by the spectacle, so there was no need to hurry.

This was the part where he always wanted to pick Cas up and throw him, giggling, to bounce on the bed. But although this worked extremely well with your average skinny-to-slightly-overweight girl, Dean had discovered to his dismay, and the screeching complaints of every muscle in his back and thighs, that it did not work with six foot tall, uncomprehending angels. And Dean had accepted some time ago that no amount of patient teaching would ever result in Castiel learning to giggle convincingly. So, scratch that.

“Come here,” he ordered, and pointed at the bed.

Castiel obediently crossed to the bed, completely unselfconscious in his nudity, and lay down. Dean killed the room lights, waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the limited light that leaked its way in the crappy drapes from outside, then returned to pounce on Cas. Who most definitely did not giggle. But he did _wriggle_ , until their half-hard cocks met and began to get reacquainted. Dean groaned in appreciation, slipped a hand into Cas’s hair, and kissed him, not gently.

Castiel _whined_. Which was new and odd but not alarming, so Dean just kinda shrugged and ploughed on, enjoying the angel fingers sliding down his back, pressing too hard to tickle but not hard enough to hurt. Which reminded him…

“Cas?”

“I’m ready, if you’d like to begin inserting your penis now.”

Dean shook his head in the dark. His angel. Always so matter-of-fact. “No, I want to ask you something. Your wings. I know you can’t really show them to me, but can you make it so I can touch them?”

Cas was suddenly breathing faster, and Dean didn’t think the subtle squirming was all in his imagination. “I think so. They would be… smaller. Scaled down to fit this space.”

“That’s fine.” Dean rolled them, though there was the barest delay before Cas realised what he wanted and rendered himself moveable by mere human strength. “Do it.”

Nothing visible changed. But there was a soft crackling as if of logs on a fire, and for an instant Dean’s eardrums felt pressure as if he was deep under water. Castiel’s body remained stretched out over Dean’s, warm and smooth.

And then something soft and ticklish brushed Dean’s arm.

Hesitantly, Dean reached out, locating the portion of wing that had touched him and tracing it reverently up towards Castiel’s shoulder.

Cas stiffened at the first touch, but somehow not in a way that set off warning bells in Dean’s head. Actually, he had to banish a half-formed thought that Cas might start purring.

Mapping out these invisible wings got less weird once he closed his eyes. Dean stroked and traced and explored less timidly. The wings were large, as far as he could tell. The fold—joint?—of each extended up beyond Castiel’s shoulders, and Dean thought he could feel the tip of one wing brushing his foot.

“So this is the scaled down version, huh?”

Castiel made a faint choking sound instead of answering immediately. Dean stilled his hands, afraid he’d pulled too hard or something.

“Yes. I have compressed the essentials into a semblance which will fit comfortably within the confines of this motel room.”

“And it’s okay if I touch?” He stroked what felt like enormous flight feathers to demonstrate.

Castiel’s gasp was half squawk. “Touch, by all means. It’s good. I—I like it.”

“Doesn’t sound that much like it.”

A pause. Castiel pressed their foreheads together for the length of several breaths. “I had not anticipated certain consequences of bringing my wings into this realm compressed into a smaller package. Effectively, I have forced the same number of nerve endings into less flesh. The result is heightened sensitivity.”

Dean’s hands moved again. Couldn’t help it. Cas whimpered and rolled his hips, rubbing his stiff cock against Dean’s groin. It was hot.

“ _Greatly_ heightened,” Castiel amended, somewhat breathlessly.

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” _So I’d better have you good and distracted before I try to pull a feather out, because it’s really fucking gonna hurt._

“Can we ‘fuck’ now, Dean?”

Dean chuckled and made an abortive attempt to reach for the lube in the nightstand drawer, only it was suddenly inexplicably in his hand. Eager angel. Right. “Now, you’re gonna have to be on top so we don’t squish your wings—” the wings in question fluttered anxiously, with a sound like rustling reeds “—but that doesn’t mean you’re in charge, got it? I’m calling the shots here. You’re gonna ride me exactly the way _I_ want, capiche?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Let’s get to it, then.”

Castiel moved off him then, manoeuvring very carefully on account of his suddenly wide load. Dean slicked up his cock briskly, then chucked Cas the lube in case he thought he needed more. Which he never seemed to, angel ass powers or whatever, but it was only polite to offer, right?

Dominance display required or not, Castiel didn’t need telling what to do. He straddled Dean’s hips, felt for Dean’s cock and lowered himself down onto it in one impossibly long, slow, smooth slide.

All of a sudden, Dean remembered just how damn long it’d had been since they’d done this. “Oh, fuck, _yeah_.”

Castiel leaned forward until his chest met Dean’s—apparently they were doing the chests-together version of cowgirl, not that Dean was awful picky about his sexual positions—and they sank into a bruising bastard of a kiss as Cas began to move. Like this, Dean could thrust up some, which was nice, and he could also touch and massage the fascinating places where the wings magically emerged from the muscle of Castiel’s very human shoulders and back. And touching the wings made Cas shudder and moan and _whine_ like he was trying to get his true voice on through human vocal cords and also made him fuck, fuck, fuck like he’d been doing it his whole life instead of a mere couple months.

“So perfect,” Dean found himself whispering into Castiel’s skin. “So hot. So _mine_.”

Cas whimpered and bucked and tightened around Dean’s dick.

Dean didn’t second-guess it. He saw his moment and he took it. Grabbed hold. Wrenched the feather right out.

Cas screamed, the hoarsest fucking scream Dean had ever heard. He also came in a warm spurt between their bodies, and kept on riding like he still hadn’t had enough.

Dean felt a moment’s strange detachment, the physical pleasure he was still experiencing seeming to grow distant as he opened his eyes to see a faint glow out to the side where his hand was. He crooked his arm, brought his hand closer to his face. Saw the perfect small feather between his finger and thumb, glowing blue-white in the darkness.

“I need…” Cas was saying. “I… need…”

He didn’t seem able to get much more verbal than that. But, since he’d felt the change in the air as Cas folded the wings back into the Heavenly dimension or whatever, Dean felt able to take a guess. He slipped the feather beneath the pillow for safe-keeping, then rolled Cas onto his back for a proper pounding. Cas didn’t whine, this time, but when Dean listened closely he could hear a faint humming, almost like a cat’s purr. And the angel-dick between their stomachs, sticky and still hard, shouted its own message pretty loud, too.

“Good boy,” Dean said, and pinned Castiel’s arms to the pillow for good measure.

***

He might have to get Balthazar some kind of gift, Dean reflected lazily two weeks later. What did you get for the asshole who had literally everything in creation available to him?

Because Castiel? Hadn’t been weird with anyone lately. Well, not weirder than usual, anyway. Hadn’t made any unconscious twitches towards his angel blade when someone looked at Dean funny. Hadn’t, uh, felt any further need to interfere with Dean’s naturally delicious manly scent. And the thing with looking expectantly at Dean all the time when they were alone, that had stopped, too. Which was a relief. It had been making him feel like he was sitting some test he not only hadn’t studied for but hadn’t known even existed.

And the weird noises, the whining and growling and such? Well, the first time he’d done that after their little adventure in the dark, Dean had just taken out a certain feather and was turning it thoughtfully between his fingers, examining it under the light and wondering whether anything like it had ever existed in this world before. And Cas had gently removed the still-glowing feather from his hand and put it aside before shoving Dean easily against the nearest wall and pinning him there with kisses. Sam had made an embarrassed sound and scurried out of the motel without a backwards glance. Cas had proved not just frisky but fucking _demanding_ , and Dean had taken a very enjoyable fucking up against that same wall, held up without apparent effort by arms reinforced with angel strength.

Dean had soon found that producing that feather _always_ produced this result. Even when Cas wasn’t actually in the room at the time, he’d flutter down pretty damn promptly wearing that look that warned he could eat you alive. Sam made a lot of rapid exits to preserve his maidenly virtue or whatever. Dean got fucked, hard, on a lot of interesting surfaces. Because he’d found that the feather, uh, needed to be looked at _a lot_.

Yeah, he was definitely going to have to get Balthazar some kind of gift. Or, you know, just suck it up and thank him. Because Horny Bastard Castiel was a thing of great beauty, and Dean owed Balty for the help in releasing him.

Yeah, he’d have to think of something nice to say to old Balty.

Right after he checked on his feather again…

 

***END***


End file.
